


I Wanna Make You Feel Good

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Squirting, Trans Male Character, Trans Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not as if… he hasn’t heard the words before. In fact, he’s heard them exactly five times: once in a porno; once through his sister, Ymir’s, bedroom wall; and three times from other boys he’s dated. Six times now, he guesses. Because he’s just heard Jean say them.</p>
<p>“I wanna eat you out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Make You Feel Good

“I wanna eat you out.”

Marco freezes at that, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling as Jean licks seductively at his ear. He’s fairly certain his heart has just stopped beating in his chest, but he feels every little drag of Jean’s body against his. “What?” he gasps.

Jean sits up a little, letting Marco sit up as well. Even though he’s not looking at his boyfriend, Marco can see he’s nervous. His cheeks are flushed red from more than making out, his hands are trembling in his lap. “I… wanna eat you out.”

Marco stares at Jean, his heart pounding. It’s not as if… he hasn’t heard the words before. In fact, he’s heard them exactly five times: once in a porno; once through his sister, Ymir’s, bedroom wall; and three times from other boys he’d dated. Six times now, he guesses. Because he’s just heard Jean say them.

The moment he processes the words, Marco’s head is spinning, and he has to crawl backwards from Jean. He doesn’t feel sick exactly, that’s the wrong word for it. And he doesn’t feel that creepy-crawly sense of… wrong that he usually does when he’s reminded somehow or other that he’s different (from his boyfriend, from other boys, from his sister, from girls). He just feels…

Apprehensive.

He’s heard those words five times (six now) and once was intimidating, twice was traumatizing, three times was too many.

“It’s different,” he finally manages.

Jean looks up at him, confused. He’s always had that way of looking at Marco that makes him feel at ease--he’s confused but he’s willing: to learn, to try, to fail and make up for his mistakes. Marco takes a deep breath before continuing, “It’s different from like… a blowjob o-or even rimming. It’s just different.”

Jean perks up a little, like a puppy hearing his name called. “Yeah! I know. I’ve…” He blushes again, and Marco finds it endearing enough to relax in its presence. “I’ve been doing research…”

Marco blushes too and looks away. Should he dare ask what kind of research? He doesn’t need to, because nerves make Jean’s lips looser than usual, they always have.

“L-like I watched a bunch of porn?” Marco frowns, almost protests that porn isn’t exactly educational, until Jean says, “B-but that’s not the only thing! I also--your sister, I um, she let me read some of that lesbian porn she reads? Th-that was a rollercoaster, hah.”

They go silent. Marco’s pretty sure he went completely dry at the mention of his sister. (That’s an exaggeration, he’s only a little bit drier but it’s not because of his sister.)

Marco finally takes a long breath and eyes Jean apprehensively. “I just want you to know that… you don’t have to.”

“I want to--”

“But you don’t have to,” Marco repeats, firmly. He takes a little comfort in the way Jean sobers at the coolness in his voice. Makes him feel a little stronger, not as frail. “A-and if you… if you back out at the last second, that’s okay. It’s happened to me before, it’s not a big deal.”

It is a big deal. Jean knows it. Marco knows it. This is a commitment. They don’t know if they’re ready.

Marco thinks about how they’ve only been dating for a few months. He says only, but it feels already like he’s never lived without Jean. Their friends claim they must be married. Jean never protests. Marco never wants to either.

But this is bigger than a ring--it’s a feeling, and it’s real, and Marco’s heart is still pounding when Jean reaches out to cup his face in his big, rough hands. “I want to,” he repeats, softly, and Marco closes his eyes. “And I’m not like the guys you’ve had before, baby. I’m… I’m willing to try. I’m not going to be scared off, because even… even if I’m not used to it, everything you’ve got… it’s you. It’s a part of you. I’m not scared of you.”

Marco’s breath feels shaky. His lips tremble for a brief moment before he finally nods and surges up to kiss Jean again. And again and again, until they’re both smiling into it and shifting to be closer together. Marco’s leg slots between Jean’s, and he squeaks when his other leg accidentally pushes between two couch cushions. Jean laughs, presses his hands against Marco’s sides.

His binder is barely noticeable beneath his shirt (Jean’s shirt), but when Jean feels it, he tugs it, a silent question if Marco wants it off. Marco hesitates a moment and then nods softly. Getting too hot and heavy with it on just makes it hard to breathe, and then no one’s comfortable.

He takes off his shirt first, and Jean’s eyes trail along the freckled skin of his soft belly, the delicate curve of his collarbone, the way his hips jut from his boxers. By the time Marco bites his lip and carefully tugs his binder off, Jean has more than had his fill of Marco’s skin--Marco’s full breasts are almost too much to look at.

So he doesn’t look at them, only up at Marco’s blissful, nervous face. He knows that Marco doesn’t like when Jean touches them, at least not without permission, so he asks for it with tiny kisses down Marco’s twitching stomach. He asks for it with soothing hands against Marco’s spine.

Marco doesn’t give it. He pulls Jean up and kisses him almost desperately. Jean can feel his shoulders hunch, hiding himself from Jean’s sight, but that’s okay. That’s okay. Jean will take what Marco gives him, without a breath of complaint.

When Marco tugs the shirt back on, Jean doesn’t complain. Only smiles and nods, whispers, “Okay, baby.”

Anything for you, baby.

Marco does press close to Jean though. He wants to feel Jean everywhere for a moment before Jean decides It’s Time. He presses his chest against Jean’s, his stomach, his thighs hug one of Jean’s and his hands tangle in his hair. And his lips, oh his lips, are so soft and plump and full against Jean’s--swollen with kiss after kiss after deep, breathless kiss.

Jean can’t get enough either. Marco’s thighs are almost too thick for his jeans, and the sight of them makes Jean’s mouth water. Marco’s hips, Marco’s sides--he can feel him breathing (panting really, like a dog in heat) against his hands. And the way he tastes… It’s all spit and saliva, and they’re still fairly inexperienced, so it’s messy and everywhere, because they just can’t stop laughing into every kiss. But it tastes like heaven. Tastes sweet, tastes warm.

Jean wonders what it tastes like between his legs.

Marco had warned him it would be different, and all the porn he watched never showed him what it tasted like. And the porn he read always differed on it--was it sweet? Was it tangy? Was it savory somehow? He liked to believe it would taste like caramel--caramel like Marco’s skin, like Marco’s laugh, like Marco’s eyes and smile and touch. Caramel warm, caramel smooth, caramel sweet.

It wouldn’t, he knows. But he likes to believe.

Just thinking about it makes him tremble. With nerves, with excitement--with arousal.

Marco shivers in his lap and grins against his lips. “You’re hard already,” he whispers, and Jean almost whimpers.

When Marco shifts a little in Jean’s lap and then starts to grind against his thigh, Jean does whimper. He can’t feel how wet Marco is through his thick boxers, but he can imagine it. Jean’s touched down there a few times--never looked, just felt. Never went down very far either. Just a few, light circles around his clit to help him finish off, and never without explicit permission, never without a caring touch.

But he wants to do more for Marco. He’s never seen his toes curl. He’s never had his hair pulled. He’s never heard Marco cry out or felt him tense up so much that he pulled a muscle.

Aside from the pulling a muscle part, all of it is something he wants to give to Marco. An orgasm that he can feel good about.

He waits, kisses Marco, lets his hands roam politely until finally Marco pulls back with a shyness so different from only a moment before. He sits up on his knees without a word and takes Jean’s hand.

Jean lets him lead, lets him choose where is good for him. Between Marco’s legs and up, against a wet warmth that makes Jean take a deep breath. He looks up at Marco and sees that his face is scrunched up in concentration and even pleasure. Marco’s hand cups Jean’s as he makes it cup his arousal and grinds into his palm.

Marco’s panting becomes high-pitched the more he shifts against Jean’s hands. Jean can feel wetness at his fingertips as Marco leans back and begins to press his hand up a little more. It has to be the core, because this is where the wetness comes from, leaking out and soaking his boxers, and Jean finds it fascinating. He wonders about having his own free control down there, finding what makes Marco hum so high and whimper so low. What makes him wet and hot and maybe even desperate.

Marco pulls away, and Jean can’t help but think he seems reluctant. He’s breathing hard, sweat on his brow and starting to grace the back of his knees and the insides of his thighs. Jean is in the same position.

There’s a moment of silence, Marco still holding Jean’s wrist as their eyes met. In his eyes, Jean can see a hint of apprehension, and then Marco smiles and it’s gone. Only trust. “You ready?”

Jean nods. “Very,” he pants. “You?”

Marco nods too. “Very.”

Everything slows down after that. Marco is laid gingerly back along the couch, until they both decide it’s too uncomfortable to do that way, so he sits up and Jean sinks to his knees. Jean places his hands on Marco’s knees in return, determinedly not looking in front of him, because he’s basically eye to eye with the large wet spot staining Marco’s boxers. He looks up at Marco instead, silently asking for permission. Asking in his stillness. Asking with reverent eyes.

Marco gives it.

Very gingerly, he lifts his hips and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. His eyes never leave Jean’s. Not even as he begins to pull them down. Past his hips, past the tops of his thighs. Jean sees a thick patch of curls shaped in a little triangle that leads down from Marco’s bellybutton. He sees the swell of Marco’s thighs as he sheepishly presses his legs together. He sees Marco’s knees knock against each other as he pulls the dark boxers down and off his body, to the floor beside Jean’s own knee. He sees the hint of the only part of Marco Jean has ever been allowed to touch down there, pink and wet, and his heart is sure to stop any second now.

They stay like that for what feels like a long time as they both begin to sober. The adrenaline of making out is quickly fading, and all the fear and apprehension is beginning to flood back to Marco’s head. He looks at Jean, and Jean looks at him. “We can stop now, if you want,” he whispers softly.

Jean thinks about it for the barest moment. He feels the hesitance deserves understanding. This will be his first time--and Marco’s. This is a commitment. It deserves careful thought. And no apprehension.

Finally, he leans forward and kisses Marco’s knee tenderly, one hand pulling Marco’s boxers off his ankles and the other faintly brushing along Marco’s thigh. “I wanna eat you out,” he repeats.

And Marco gives him permission.

Trembling just the slightest bit, Marco starts to spread his legs for Jean. Ankles first, then shins and knees. His thighs take the longest, because his legs are so long, and then Jean is finally face to face with Marco’s manhood.

It isn’t the same perfect tight and pink that Jean has always seen in porn. It’s darker, an off-color pink. There aren’t any freckles (such a shame) but that’s okay. And maybe the lips (labia?) are a bit bigger than he’d expected, but he doesn’t care. And it’s wet--very, very, almost intimidatingly wet--but he can do this.

He wants to.

Marco is chewing nervously on his lip. He still expects Jean to pull away in disgust and run for the hills. He doesn’t expect Jean to begin kissing tenderly up along his thigh. His eyes roll shut, and he lets out a tiny sigh.

Jean takes his time. It’s less to build up Marco’s arousal than it is to sooth his nerves--both of their nerves. So he takes his time. He kisses freckles on the inside of Marco’s thigh. He tries to remember how it was done in the porn he’d watched, but all he remembers are bites and screams of pleasure, and that’s not what either of them wants right now.

So he kisses. He even starts to nuzzle at the joint of Marco’s leg and his crotch. Jean tries to describe the smell to himself but can’t place it. Musky, but not like a dick at all. Musky and thick and wet, and he feels his breath coming in slower and slower as he moves to the other thigh.

Marco is shaking. He’s outright shaking in Jean’s gentle grasp. Is it fear? Is it nerves? Is it pleasure?

Jean tentatively pokes his tongue out and begins to lap at his skin. It’s faintly wet there from Marco pressing his legs together, and Jean rolls the taste around in his mind. It’s hard to describe, harder than the smell. Not sour. Not bitter. Definitely not sweet. He dares to think it really is tangy, and salty?

He stops and takes a deep breath through his nose, smelling it again, the muskiness that’s not like a dick but still utterly arousing.

He pulls back and looks up at Marco as he begins to move in deeper between his legs. Marco’s eyes are shut so tight, and his toes are the only part of him touching the floor. “Is this okay?” Jean whispers.

Marco gasps, “God yes.”

So Jean leans in and kisses the wetness waiting for him.

Marco doesn’t moan, not yet, but he hums long and low. Jean does moan.

He can’t say it tastes good, but it doesn’t taste bad. The wetness is already all over his lips, from just a kiss, and for some reason, it strikes Jean as incredibly hot.

He kisses again, continues to kiss warmly and softly. Marco spreads his legs fractionally wider, and that makes Jean grin.

It isn’t long before he has Marco breathing heavily again, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling because his back is arched too hard for him to look at Jean. It’s only when he hears the barest whine come from Marco’s throat that he takes a brief moment to steady himself and then dives in.

His first lick is tentative. He tastes Marco on his tongue, and the taste is musky but otherwise nothing bad. He could almost say he likes it. So he licks again and feels Marco tense up against his tongue.

The more he licks, the easier it gets, until Marco begins to moan and Jean begins to lap. His tongue broad and flat, he licks up as much as he can get, from the bottom of Marco’s frontal hole all the way up to that little hard nub Jean knows is Marco’s clit.

Marco suddenly jolts as Jean starts to lick at it. He swirls against it with his tongue and then presses against it, holds the pressure until he sees Marco’s mouth drop open on a near silent whine. Then he moves away, leaving Marco to start to relax--as much as he can when Jean’s decided he really does like the taste of Marco in his mouth and starts to go in a little deeper, a little harder.

Marco’s panting. Marco’s moaning. Marco’s hips are twitching, so Jean grabs his knees and hooks them on his shoulders. It drags Marco down just a bit, so that he can’t squirm, and it gives Jean better leverage to really sink his face between Marco’s legs.

Marco’s so, so wet--Jean can feel it dripping down his chin--and his whimpering moans sound so sweet. Jean’s more than hard now, and he’s sure he could come from this. From eating Marco out.

Jean’s tongue explores, pushes against sensitive spots and makes Marco turn his head back and forth. When Marco’s hands curl in Jean’s hair and tug, Jean grins.

“J-Jean,” Marco manages, his voice high-pitched. “Jean, inside.”

Jean doesn’t get it at first, mumbles out a what, and that makes Marco pull away. Before Jean can protest however, Marco is reaching down with one hand and spreading himself out. Jean lets out an appreciative groan at the sight. It’s pinker now with arousal, and the wetness makes Marco’s fingers glisten. Makes Jean’s jaw drop in surprise.

“Just--your tongue, Jean, please? I-I’m really close…”

Jean can’t refuse. He leans forward and grabs Marco’s hips, tilting his head back and forth to suck softly at the circle of Marco’s opening. Marco cries out, and that’s all Jean needed to hear.

Having a tongue inside of him--Jean’s tongue--makes Marco leave behind all decorum. “Fuck!” he gasps, and grinds down against Jean’s mouth, pushing his tongue in deeper. Jean just groans.

This is better than he’d ever imagined. Marco is twisting in his grasp, and Jean feels all of his tensions roll away. So he pushes his tongue in deep and uses it to stroke Marco’s walls, to search for this g-spot that he’d heard so much about. He doesn’t find it but that’s okay, that’s okay, and he refuses to stop giving Marco his tongue.

Marco rocks slowly down against Jean’s tongue as Jean begins to thrust, biting his lip hard around every moan and whine and whimper. Really close, really close--he can feel a release starting to come, and it makes his whole body all the more receptive.

Jean can feel Marco’s orgasm building in the way he tightens around his tongue, in the way his legs are starting to hug him, pushing his face deeper into his wetness. But he refuses to stop. He wants to feel Marco come, wants to feel him tense up so good, hear him cry out from the pleasure. They’re alone in the house, Marco can be loud if he wants to be. Jean wants him to be.

So he reaches up and touches the only place he’s ever been allowed to touch before this. He rubs light circles around Marco’s clit and thrusts his tongue as deep as his aching jaw will allow. He sucks a little at the ring of muscle, laps a little in between thrusts, and circles, circles, circles, once, twice--

Marco’s hands dig into Jean’s hair and pull--

Marco’s back arches clean off the couch--

Jean can hear nothing but Marco near screaming his name and “FUCK, FUCK, OH GOD--”

And Marco gushes wet and hot onto his tongue and all over his mouth and chin and nose as he comes, his body tensing up so suddenly that he’s sure he pulled a muscle.

They still for a long moment, breathing hard and coming down from their high. It isn’t until Marco carefully unwraps his legs from around Jean’s neck that Jean realizes… he came too. In his pants. There’s a wet stain in the front of his jeans, and it’s not from Marco.

If he weren’t already flushed so red, he’s sure he’d be blushing in embarrassment. Who comes without being touched? Just from eating out his boyfriend?

Surprisingly, it’s Marco that speaks first, his voice positively wrecked. “I love you,” he pants.

Jean smiles despite himself, leaning his cheek against Marco’s sweaty thigh. “I love you too,” he responds, despite how much his jaw aches now.

They sit up after a few more minutes of just breathing, and Marco hugs Jean until Jean’s sure that they must’ve fazed into one another, because neither of them want to let go. Marco doesn’t let go. He very shyly pulls off his shirt (Jean’s shirt) and helps Jean wipe off his face. He even wipes between his legs with a bit of a grimace that he hides from Jean.

And Jean strips off his cum-soaked pants and his cum-soaked boxers, and they curl up together on the couch, naked and warm and blissful.

Marco strokes Jean’s dry cheek, a wide smile on his face that Jean doesn’t think he’s ever seen on him before. It’s almost the same look he gave him so long ago now it seems when Marco admitted that he was trans, and Jean told him he loved him.

“Thank you,” Marco whispers, looking up into Jean’s eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Jean just smiles and nuzzles him, holding him close to his chest with strong arms. “You don’t have to thank  me. I wanted to.”

Marco nods, presses his cheek against Jean’s chest and listens to his heart beat. “I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too,” Jean replies with a chuckle.

It isn’t long before they’re both passed out, curled up in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> TADA!!! More trans Marco, because I love him. I LOVE HIM.
> 
> Anyway, yeah, not much to say, I got some dialogue stuck in my head and this happened. =DD
> 
> Just like last time, if anything seems offensive, please PLEASE tell me, and I'll correct it right away!
> 
> Hhhh, I really like this one~~
> 
> Comments and kudos are super appreciated, and if you like, go ahead and check out my writing sideblog, novelistangel on tumblr! (=


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